


Rest

by rippergiles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), POV Alternating, Pining, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippergiles/pseuds/rippergiles
Summary: The circumstances responsible for his injury caused a deeper sort of twinge.





	1. Chapter 1

  
Being human was proving to be an annoyance. A wendigo he could have once smote with a mere touch was responsible for the deep, slow-healing gashes in his side. They pulled and stung with every movement, and they were beginning to itch. The circumstances responsible for his injury caused a deeper sort of twinge.   
  
Sam and Dean had told him to “rest” and “take it easy” until he was healed, but they couldn’t have prepared him for the immense boredom of being confined to a bed for so long, especially so shortly after losing the incredible power he now realized he’d always taken for granted. They’d been helpful, doting even, bringing Cas food and books and even dragging an old television set into his room. It worked off of an antenna, and the reception wasn’t great down in the bunker, but he was still able to watch slightly staticky reruns of old shows.    
  
“You know,” Dean had told him, with a fond smile at the television set as it displayed the fuzzy image of a long-nosed alien creature, “We grew up watching these shows in hotel rooms on the road. Sammy never liked ALF, but he had a real crush on Punky Brewster.”    
  
“A punky what?”   
  
Dean had shaken his head. “Nevermind.”   
  
Cas had asked Dean if he wanted to stay and watch with him, because the sitcom’s light-hearted conflict and one-liner jokes seemed to make him smile, eyes crinkled and all, and Dean did that so infrequently these days. After a long pause, Dean had sighed and told him no. The Winchesters still had cases to work while Cas was laid up. The word  _ useless _ went unsaid, but Cas felt it nonetheless.   
  
He reached up to scratch his head; the metaphorical itch to move, to work, to do  _ anything _ had been manifesting itself physically more and more the longer he was stuck here. His fingers came away greasy, and Cas wrinkled his nose. After days of resting in filth, he was beginning to feel the very human need to wash himself.   
  
He sat up slowly, hissing at the sting in his side. Pain was less ever-present now, but getting from a lying to a standing position still proved a challenge as it stretched the brand-new skin trying to form over the gashes. Dean had tried to clean and stitch Cas’ side himself, but after a few moments of trying to work with shaking hands, had called for Sam in a strained voice. Cas was confused by this; he’d seen Dean treat wounds like this on himself and Sam with no issue. But in the hours after the wendigo had attacked him, he’d been in too much pain to focus on much of anything. Sam’s large hands were gentle as they sealed his wounds, and for that he was grateful.   
  
It took a frustratingly long time to get out of bed, but once he did he was able to shuffle down the hallway in his sweatpants without much issue. He opened a linen closet, grabbing a towel before continuing toward the shower room.  
  
“Cas!” Sam’s voice called out as Cas passed the door to the kitchen. “Glad to see you up and about. How you doing, man?” Sam was suddenly at his side, holding out an arm to steady him. Cas smiled in appreciation but didn’t take it.   
  
“I’m alright, Sam. I’m just headed to take a shower.” A tiny movement in Sam’s eyebrows caught Cas’ attention. “Unless that’s a problem?”   
  
“What?” Sam said, “No, no problem. Enjoy the warm water, make sure to wash your side gently while you’re in there. Dinner will be done by the time you’re out.”

“Where’s Dean?”

Sam shrugged. “Around here somewhere.”   
  
Castiel squinted at Sam, trying to decipher the twitch at the corner of his mouth before convincing himself he’d imagined it. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
Dean folded his clothes neatly, leaving them on a bench on the opposite wall before dragging himself into the shower stall and starting the water. It had been a long day on the road, and he needed to feel clean before he could think of enjoying the dinner Sam was preparing. He’d considered checking on Cas as soon as they got home, but the thought of bringing him a surprise meal in his room afterward and taking him up on that Nick-at-Nite marathon had won out.    
  
His shoulders tensed as he thought of sliding in bed next to Cas to watch TV. He’d force himself to maintain maximum distance and stay on top of the covers when what he really wanted was to snuggle close and let Cas rest on his chest while they laughed at the sitcoms. It didn’t matter what they watched, only who he watched it with.   
  
If someone had told him five years ago he’d be having these thoughts about the dickhead angel who’d burned out Pamela’s eyes, he might have shot them. Somehow, they didn’t seem so outlandish now. Cas had become a real rebel, gone against who knew how many millennia of angelic training, to help him and Sam. And that had only been the beginning. He’d hunted side by side with them, fought wars in heaven, practically become God, even died.   
  
Dean didn’t like to remember that year, but sometimes it snuck up on him. He had spent weeks fighting Sam and Bobby at every turn, telling them that this was  _ Cas _ , they had to be wrong, he wasn’t capable of hiding things from them, let alone in favor of someone like Crowley. His heart had broken the moment he realized he’d been wrong. Their friendship had already fractured beyond recognition, but they could have fixed it, could have come back, if they’d only had time. Seeing Cas wade into that lake, disappearing into a cloud of black, had been all he could take.   
  
At least, he thought it had been. Until he turned up on that front porch and stared down at blue eyes that didn’t recognize him, found a stranger in Cas’ form living with a wife and life that didn’t have a place for Dean. He’d stolen him, not caring what Emmanuel was leaving behind, only needing to keep him by his side until he could find a way to bring Cas back. It didn’t take long, but it didn’t stick long, either. The patient they’d left behind with Meg wasn’t the Cas he knew, but it was something.   
  
Dean started to shampoo his hair, digging into his scalp harder than was necessary as he thought of purgatory, remembered the constant running, fighting for his life, asking every damned soul he came across  _ where’s the angel?  _ Dean told Benny that being in purgatory was the purest versions of themselves, which ended up proving itself in unexpected ways. When it boiled down to his purest need, his most base desire, all he wanted to do was get Cas. Everything else could wait. He’d finally found him, all scruffy beard and tattered coat, finally pulled his angel into his arms for the first time. That moment had shifted something between them, something unsaid, when he realized Cas had never wanted to be found. He had some goddamned penance complex to work out, and he wasn’t leaving that hellscape until he’d done so, no matter what it did to Dean.   
  
He’d had horrific flashbacks, hallucinations that left him thrashing against empty space for months. When he saw Cas next, he didn’t believe it, assumed it was just his imagination giving him some form of comfort, until he’d reached out and touched Cas, felt a solid form under his fingers.   
  
Dean let the water blast his face, soaking in the mixed-up feelings of the time that followed. The gentle touches, the sweet smiles Cas gave him, all while Dean was trying his damnedest not to look a gift horse in the mouth but failing to understand _ how _ Cas was back. Things weren’t that simple in their lives, he knew that much. He involuntarily flinched as his mind conjured Cas in that crypt, dead eyes staring him down as he pounded Dean’s face to a pulp. The desperation came flooding back, the need for Cas to break free. Dean knew then that he didn’t care what happened to himself, only that he couldn’t lose Cas, not again.   
  
It seemed impossible for so much to have changed between them in a few short years. After everything, here they were, Cas without wings and Sam unknowingly with an angel riding shotgun, and Dean just trying to keep the three of them alive. Ever since Cas had turned up at the bunker, after that night where they’d helplessly watched angels falling like shooting stars hurtling toward the earth, it had been harder to ignore the pull Dean felt toward him. He’d entertained these longings with stupid domestic shit like cooking him dinner or lending him pajamas, but moments like this, alone with his thoughts, he was free to picture more.   



	3. Chapter 3

  
The bunker had private toilets, but the Men of Letters who constructed it apparently never saw fit to include showers with them. The showers were in their own room, a row of three stalls on a tile floor with drains under each. Cas pushed open the shower room door and was met with a room full of steam, through which he could see the shape of Dean standing under the water. The stall’s curtain sat open; Dean had clearly not expected anyone to interrupt him.  
  
He froze, unsure if he should try to back out before Dean noticed him, or make his presence known. Unbridled honesty and a lack of boundaries in their first years together had seemed to make Dean uncomfortable, but every instance of lying or hiding things from him since then had been infinitely worse. Cas still found himself disbelievingly grateful he’d been able to come back from being full of Leviathans and still have friends to come back to. Now he was just trying to find a happy medium of conscious honesty to comfortably coexist with Dean. To his credit, Sam never seemed anything more than amused with Cas’ unusual social skills, or lack thereof.   
  
Still standing in place, Cas’ eyes adjusted to the steam as he heard Dean begin to hum an unfamiliar melody. He’d known Dean’s body, had pieced it together from atoms around the soul he’d pulled from hell. But somehow seeing it here, laid bare and glistening, was different. A dozen streams of water converged to follow the same path between his shoulder blades, down to the small of his back, then down to-   
  
Cas took a sharp breath and immediately knew it had been too loud.    



	4. Chapter 4

  
Dean spun around, taking a fighting pose to face whatever monster had found its way into the bunker. A moment of recognition passed through him before he scrambled to grab the curtain and pull it around his hips.   
  
“Damn it, Cas! You scared the hell outta me!”   
  
“I’m- I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said haltingly. “I didn’t mean- I didn’t know you’d be in here.” 

Dean sighed, trying to get his heartbeat back under control. “Then why are you here?”  
  
“I...wanted to take a shower?” Cas told him, without a hint of sarcasm. Dean stared at the ceiling, exasperated, but with a hidden touch of fondness for the former angel who still didn’t quite fit in with humans. He was the same guy Dean had come to-   
  
_Shit_ , Dean thought. _Don’t even think the L word, or you’re liable to say it._ The really shit thing of it all was that he knew Cas wouldn’t judge him, might not even turn him away if Dean would just spit it out, just make a move. But that wouldn’t stop Dean from finding a way to ruin the only good relationship he had besides Sam, who, for better or worse, seemed stuck with him at this point. So here they would stay. Castiel wasn’t his, but at least he was _here_ .   
  
“Right. Uh, sorry.” Dean cleared his throat.  
  
“I can go- come back later-”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said gruffly, turning away and pulling the curtain closed behind him. “Just don’t use up the hot water before I’m finished. And don’t you dare take the big blue towel, that’s my favorite.”   
  
Castiel smiled a little at that. 


	5. Chapter 5

  
Dean was in the middle stall, so Cas had no choice but to choose one directly next to him. He opted for the one on the right, which already had soap and shampoo waiting for him. He pulled the curtain behind him slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, though he wasn’t sure why. Dean knew he was here now, he wouldn’t expect complete silence. He peeled his loose shirt off slowly, being careful not to let it rub at his wounds. His bottom half proved a little more difficult, since it was impossible for Cas to bend over without pain. He reached up and steadied himself on the top of the stall, leaning against it while he shimmied one leg out of his sweatpants and boxers.    
  
“You okay, buddy?” Dean asked, lightly tapping the fingers that had appeared over the side of his stall. Castiel almost jumped out of his skin.   
  
“Yes, sorry- just needed to hold on to something. I was so ready to get clean I didn’t think about how hard it would be to get undressed.”   
  
“Oh.” A moment of silence. “Did you, uh, need help?”   
  
Castiel’s heart was hammering. Internally, he admitted that help would be nice, and not just to make it easier for himself. Ever since he became human, little moments of panic like this had become more frequent. He’d always known Dean’s heart, Dean’s soul, and loved it purely. But now he found himself noticing things like Dean’s aftershave, the freckles under his eyes, the way clothes fit him. Each moment like this was accompanied by the sinking realization that he had to keep his distance, or risk alienating Dean forever.   
  
“No,” he whispered, then cleared his throat and spoke up. “No, thanks. I think I got it.”   
  
Finally free of his clothes, he leaned out from behind the curtain and tossed them into a pile a few feet away from the stall. He shuffled under the shower head and turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before letting it rinse his face and wet his hair. The warmth was soothing, and the dull sting it caused when it touched his side wasn’t bad. It felt healing, almost.   
  
The peeling seafoam-green paint that covered the stall walls was oddly soothing to Castiel as he picked up the soap and slowly rolled it in his hands. It was kitschy and reminiscent of when the bunker had been built, unlike many of the warmer, homier areas they spent lots of time in. As an angel, he’d been able to clean himself in an instant, any dirt or grime simply evaporating from his skin or clothes. Standing in the warm cascading water, he began to understand why humans enjoyed this ritual, even used showers as time to self-reflect, brainstorm, and create. He used his lathered hand to begin to rub himself clean, starting with a gentle massage on his shoulders, which ached along with the rest of him, presumably from being horizontal in the same position for days.   
  
“Uh, Cas?”   
  
His eyes flew open. “Yes?”   
  
“You were uh, making noise. Moaning.”   
  
The heat on his cheeks rivaled that of the water. “Sorry,” Cas murmured. “This is kind of a new experience for me. It’s nice.”   
  
Dean chuckled. “I guess it is.”   



	6. Chapter 6

  
Dean turned the water off, running his fingers through his hair and flinging off the excess water. From the next stall, he could smell Sam’s flowery shampoo wafting through the steam.   
  
“Next time, you can borrow mine,” he told Cas as he wrapped a towel around his waist. “Don’t want you to think that smelling like a girl with long flowing hair is the only option.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Cas said quietly. “Though yours does smell very pleasant too.”  
  
Dean’s neck prickled as he wondered how often Castiel had been smelling his hair. “Oh, uh...thanks. Enjoy the rest of your shower.” He grabbed his robe from the hooks by the door and pulled it on, scurrying out of the room before he could say anything he’d regret.   
  
Walking past the kitchen on his way back to his bedroom, Dean doubled back as he caught a whiff of Sam’s spicy chili. “Hey, smells good!”   
  
Sam looked up from stirring the large pot, laughing at the towel Dean had wrapped around his head. “It’s almost ready. Did you have a good shower?”   
  
Dean blinked. “Uh, sure? Did you have a good...cooking?”   
  
“Is Cas still in there?”   
  
Dean’s mouth fell open slightly before he rounded on Sam. “ _You_ sent him in there after me?”   
  
Sam chuckled. “We have stalls for a reason, Dean. Didn’t think you’d mind. Besides, he looked like he needed it.”   
  
“Real funny, Sam. Give me a little warning next time so I won’t be standing stark ass naked singing showtunes when he shows up.”   
  
“You were singing what?” Sam called after him as Dean strode out of the kitchen. 


	7. Chapter 7

  
Twenty minutes later found the three of them around the dinner table, ladling out second helpings of chili each. Dean opened another pair of beers, passing one to Sam. 

Sam smiled at the two of them. “I’m glad to have you back at the dinner table, Cas.”

Castiel returned the grin, clinking bottles with Sam. “I’m glad to be back up and about. I was starting to go a little stir-crazy in my room.”

“I bet.”

Dean cleared his throat. “I think we’re gonna take a few days off from traveling, do some research around the bunker to see if we can get any intel on Metatron.”   


Cas frowned. “You guys don’t have to stay here on my account. I’ve been getting by on my own. And every day I’m healing more, getting back to normal. Or human normal, at least.”  
  
“It’s not just for you,” Dean sighed, a sound Cas could tell came from deep in his lungs. “I’m tired, man.”   
  
Sam glanced at Cas. They all knew he meant more than that he needed a good night’s rest. That was the thing about Dean. He was the strongest person Castiel knew, standing steadfast in the face of everything like an ancient, unyielding tree. But year by year, life’s winters came and stripped his energy and vibrance, piling more worries, more grief on his shoulders. Sooner or later, there would be a time where the load became unbearable, and Dean would be forced to yield or break. Cas dreaded when that day came. All he could do now was try to lighten the load, but Dean would never be the type to burden anyone else for his own relief.

Dean broke the silence by clinking his beer down on the table, rather more forcefully than necessary. “What do you say we play a game? We bought a few new additions for the Men of Letters collection. I can get us set up in the den while Sam cleans up in here.”

“Hey, I cooked!”   
  
“Sorry, Sammy. I’ve got a patient to tend to.” Dean winked toward his brother as he helped Cas stand up and steered them out of the room. Cas could have managed on his own, but he let Dean hold him, fingers lightly placed on Cas’ arm and waist, all the way down the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Dean eased Cas into a chair before pulling out their square fold-out card table and setting it up, scooting it over Cas’ lap. He brought out a square red box and opened it, tossing the paper score pad to Cas and pulling five dice out.   


“Yahtzee,” he announced. “The big daddy of all dice games. Come on, we’ll do a few practice rolls before Sam gets here so you can get the hang of how to play.” He picked up the dice and placed them in Cas’ palm, folding the other man’s fingers over the cubes. “Go ahead and blow on them, for luck.”   
  
That earned him a squint from Cas. “I’m certain exhaling carbon dioxide has nothing to do with-”   
  
Dean grabbed his closed hand and put his lips on the opening, cutting Cas short. He lingered a second too long, looking up at Cas before blowing on the dice.   
  
“There. Now roll them.”   
  
Cas let the dice fall from his hand, no flourish, no finesse. Dean looked at the numbers on the table and started to arrange them in different combinations to show Cas his options.   
  
Cas picked up the score pad and studied the rows on it. “I can see the appeal. It’s all up to chance. If you lose, it’s not your fault.”  
  
Dean frowned at him, wondering if there was more to him saying that than an observation on the game. “There’s a little strategy as to picking what category to use your rolls on. You don’t want to get stuck without the bonus points at the top.”   
  
Sam walked in huffily and pulled a chair to the table, turning it backwards before plopping down.   
  
“Come on, Sammy. Let’s roll.”   
  
Sam peeled himself a scorecard off the top of the pad. Dean wrote CAS in block letters on the top of one page, then his own name on another. He spent most of the game focusing more on Cas’ rolls than his own, taking frequent opportunities to lean over and whisper tips in Cas’ ear, pointing out dice combinations to his advantage despite Sam’s grumbling. After the three of them had won two rounds each, Cas’ mouth stretched wide into a monstrous yawn. Dean’s heart panged a little at the sight, the angel who used to stand watch awake every night now a man who needed regular sleep like the rest of them. They’d call the game a draw.   


“Looks like you’d better get to bed, buddy,” Dean told him. “Come on, I’ll walk you.” 


	9. Chapter 9

  
_“Cas!” Dean’s voice rang out through the forest. They had agreed to keep silent as they split up, so Cas’ heart leapt into a panic as he thought of Dean in danger, Dean needing him. He abandoned his post and ran as fast as his human legs would allow toward the noise, feet sliding in the melting patches of snow._   
  
_“Help me!” He sounded so close now._   
  
_Castiel circled a giant oak tree, knowing Dean should be on the other side. When he came into the adjacent clearing, he looked around wildly for any sign of the hunter, but found none._   
  
_“Dean?” he called out. The forest had become silent._   
  
_A feral growl behind him made Cas spin around, face to face with a humanoid creature with scarred skin pulled taut over its thin, stretched limbs. It was taller than he was, taller than Sam, even, peering down at him with hunger in its sunken eyes._   
  
_The reality of what had happened washed over him in a sickening wave. Wendigos could imitate human voices. He pulled his gun from his pack, hands shaking as he tried to aim. Before he could pull the trigger the creature was on him, claws tearing into flesh._

  
  
Cas woke with a start, crying out in pain when his sudden movement pulled at his wound. Sweat soaked his sheets and skin. He breathed deeply, trying to get his racing heart back under control. The terror of the dream was fading, but a lingering feeling persisted, his ever-present urge to confirm that Dean was safe raised to a level he couldn’t ignore. He slowly slipped out of bed, not bothering to put a shirt on. He’d just look in for a minute.   
  
He made his way to Dean’s door and tried to quietly open it, hoping Dean’s multiple drinks over dinner and Yahtzee were helping him sleep deeply. Cas peered in, smiling when he saw Dean sprawled on his stomach, one leg out of the covers, holding a pillow.   
  
“Whossere?” Dean grunted. Cas’ heart leapt into his throat as he considered closing the door and retreating as quickly as possible back to his own room, but something held him in place. 

He found himself opening his mouth and speaking softly. “It’s Cas. Sorry, I was just checking on you. Go back to sleep.”  
  
Dean opened a single bleary eye. “Why?”   
  
“I...had a bad dream,” Cas said, mortified. Here he was, a millenia-old being, acting like a frightened child.   
  
“‘M fine,” Dean mumbled. “Get in here.”   
  
Castiel’s eyes went wide. He must have misheard him.   
  
“What?” he croaked. 

Dean pulled his leg back under the cover and shifted his body to one side of the bed, patting the space next to him. His eyes were closed again, probably already drifting back toward unconsciousness. Castiel could have turned and left there, but the aching pull he felt toward Dean was too great.  
  
He slid into bed slowly, trying not to move the mattress too much. His body was rigid with nerves as he laid still, flat on his back. Dean scooted closer, putting an arm around Cas’ midsection as if he were a replacement for the pillow he’d been snuggled into before. They were practically sharing a pillow as Cas felt Dean’s breath on his neck, evening out into slow, soft snores as he fell back asleep. With Dean here, wrapped around him, it was difficult to even remember the paralyzing fear from only minutes before. Castiel shut his eyes and relaxed his body. He could finally rest. 


	10. Chapter 10

  
The first thing Dean noticed as he started to wake was the strange sensation of parts of his face and lips being pressed against something warm and smooth. He blinked a few times and let the form he was resting on come into focus. The blur shifted into skin, a bare torso marred by stitched wounds, above it a face covered in stubble on a head topped with messy dark hair. _Cas_. 

Dean was now very awake as he pulled away quickly, his mind launching into panic as he tried to surreptitiously wipe the drool he’d left near Cas’ collarbone away. A foggy memory of the night before surfaced. Cas turning up, a drowsy invitation…He had spoken up, and Cas had joined him.  
  
He was almost bitter that after all this time, spending the night (however innocently) with Cas for the first time was something he barely remembered. Now that he’d been so close, so intimate with him, he felt robbed now that Cas was no longer in his arms.  
  
Dean could almost hear his inner monologue skip as his mind rewound to words that had passed without him even immediately noticing. _First time_. Was he expecting this to become a regular occurence? Where did they go from here? Did Cas, still not up to speed on all social cues, just not know what to do when Dean invited him to lay down, and joined him out of some remnant sense of obligation? Should Dean just get up now and go to breakfast and pray that Cas never brought this up? 

The decision was made for him as he saw Cas’ eyes open and turn his way. His breath caught as he watched Cas momentarily work through some of the same sleepy confusion he himself had just faced. Cas’ eyes then crinkled into a smile, causing a balloon to inflate somewhere around Dean’s navel.  
  
Cas turned onto his side to face him. “Hello, Dean.”  
  
“Hey,” he exhaled. “Uh, so this was...a surprise. I don’t remember exactly what happened last night.”  
  
“Well,” Cas began, “when you got home from hunting, you went to take a shower.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got that part. I meant-” Cas’ gentle smile turned into a barely-contained smirk, and it was contagious as Dean realized he’d been the butt of a joke. “Did you really just-?”  
  
“I had a nightmare,” Castiel sighed. “About...about the wendigo. I couldn’t find you, and I just...I needed to make sure you were safe. But then you woke up, and told me to stay, so I did.” 

Dean rubbed his eyes, hoping it would cover the blush in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, man.”  
  
Castiel’s face fell, his eyes leaving Dean for the first time since they’d opened. “Oh,” he said softly. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not.”  
  
Dean’s eyes widened at Cas as relief flooded him. “You’re not?” 

“No. But I am sorry for messing up the hunt and getting wounded in the first place. You would have had a lot easier time ambushing the Wendigo if it hadn’t gotten lured me to it.”  
  
“Lured you?” He’d never told Dean why he was away from his lookout spot when the Wendigo had gotten to him. Dean had been too focused on getting Cas fixed up to ask.  
  
“It used your voice. Called out to me.”  
  
“Oh.” Dean swallowed. “Jeez, Cas, why am I just finding this out?”  
  
“I guess I was worried you’d think less of me. I’m already so...human, and frail, and useless now.”  
  
“Hey.” Dean reached up and gripped Cas’ arm. “I’m human. Am I frail and useless?”  
  
Cas blushed. “No, of course not.”  
  
“And you aren’t either. You got me?”  
  
Cas reached up and put his own hand over Dean’s. “I got you.”  
  
“Listen, Cas. You know I’d fight a thousand angry monsters alone if it meant keeping you safe, right? I love you.” The words had come tumbling out without warning, and even Dean’s mouth fell open slightly as he realized what he’d said. “Uh...I mean, if that’s okay.”  
  
Cas’ face broke into a wide grin, bigger than Dean had ever seen on him. It filled Dean with such bright happiness that it was hard to believe Cas didn’t have his grace anymore. Cas scooted closer to him, their noses now only inches apart.  
  
“It’s definitely okay.” Cas leaned in and kissed him, hesitant and soft. “Is _that_ okay?”  
  
Dean could only kiss him back in response, deeply, tenderly, trying to pour the last five years of escalating feelings into it. When they finally broke apart, Cas leaned in and rested their foreheads together. Dean didn’t know what came next between them, didn’t know if they could overcome his fear of fucking this up. This was just a first step, and he hoped that all the talking, categorizing, overanalyzing of whatever their relationship had just become could be delayed as long as possible. God knew words were hard enough for the two of them, but this, holding Cas and kissing him and never wanting to let go... _this_ Dean knew he could do. 


End file.
